Orange and Clove
by AbyssinianSerengeti
Summary: In FTL, magic is power and all magic is taught. Except for the magic-borns - chased by the Black Hunters, feared by the people and enslaved by those who lust for their superior skills. When Rumpelstiltskin saves Belle, a young magic-born, the deal they make changes the very nature of magic as the kingdoms know it.
1. Prologue

**Summary: **In FTL, magic is power and all magic is taught. Except for the magic-borns - chased by the Black Hunters, feared by the people and enslaved by those who lust for their superior skills. When Rumpelstiltskin saves Belle, a young magic-born, the deal they make changes the very nature of magic as the kingdoms know it.

**Background****: **Other than Rumpelstiltskin, we've only ever seen magic in two forms - spell books and fairy dust. So...

In this version of FairyTale Land, there is a phenomenon known as '**magic-born**' children, who have a kind of innate magic that is born and not learned. **Black Hunters** are freelance mercenaries who travel the kingdoms capturing and selling magic-borns. In a world of 5 million people, there are about 1000 who are magically inclined (200 being children) and only about 20 are females. Of the 800 adults, at the start of the story, approximately 400 are in hiding. Magic-borns generally don't exhibit any powers until puberty but sometimes, a traumatic incident may bring out an '**early blossom**'. Nevertheless, it is rare for a magic-born to display consistent and controlled use of magic until they are well into adulthood seeing as most have to teach themselves. The wealthy in FTL **Collect** magic-borns because owning a magical slave is the equivalent of owning power. It is a process that forces a person's magic to change allegiance and by proxy, requires the human to surrender all free will. The most desired **Collection** is that of female pre-adult - the magic of children is the most potent in the land. Sometimes, **Collected** magic-bornsundergo the act of '**transfer**' where they switch masters. Given that transferring magic is the equivalent of transferring one's soul, the damage this causes the magic-born is often irreparable.

**Warnings: **Underage, varying degrees of graphic rape/non-con (but never in relation to Rumbelle), varying degrees of violence, kid!Belle, dark!Belle, coarse language, mind control/soul control/sadistic manipulation

**Length: **Around 18 chapters

**Image: **Magic by Cruenta (deviantart)

* * *

**Prologue**

When Princess Belle (who isn't _really_ a princess because her Papa isn't _really_ a king) is seven, she sees a Black Hunter for the first time.

It's Midsummer's night and Papa has let her leave the castle walls if she promises to keep hold of Old Aunt Melody's hand (she's not actually Belle's Auntie but everyone calls her that). The people light huge bonfires, cackling and glaringly bright with flames of gold and red. Women wear rosemary, dog roses and elder flowers around their necks to ward off evil spirits. Girls have their best white dresses on and Belle's is already dirtied at the hem. There are songs in the old language and the new and people clap rhythms on wooden sticks.

The air is smoky, the moon is only a curled sliver in the sky and in between the bonfires where the heat does not reach, it is cold.

"Melody, my shoe's unlaced," Belle says as she stumbles over her own feet. Melody clucks and drags her off to one of these darker corners, bending to tie up the string.

Belle plays with the ribbon at her hair and peers into the night. The light of the fires has blinded her. She blinks away the spots and tries not to be frightened. She's only seven but hard to scare and Melody's a no-nonsense kind of women.

So when Belle sees a figure unwrap itself from the side of road, carrying something in its left hand and dressed from head to toe in black, she thinks nothing of it. People from all the nearby lands have come to their modest capital to celebrate St Ivan's Day, strangers (because this man is definitely a stranger) aren't a rare sight.

Melody stands and straightens her dress. She should have a circlet of plants at her throat but she doesn't. "If the spirits want your Old Aunt, a peasant's trinket isn't going to stop them now is it?" Belle had only nodded solemnly.

Years later, Belle still thinks that had Melody worn it, the figure in the shadows wouldn't have stolen up on them. That another man who must have been behind Belle wouldn't have wrapped his gloved hands around her mouth to smother her scream as Melody was skewered in the thigh by what the first figure had been carrying – a spiked spear.

It was years later that Belle finally understood why Melody had killed herself, instead of surrendering as the man demanded of her from behind a black cloth obscuring all but two eyes. She had reached out a hand and shot a bolt of red lightning to the dagger at the hip of her captor. Belle had stopped struggling and watched, frozen, as the dagger flew to her nurse's neck and slit it in a clean, quick cut. The red that seeped out blended into the red light that still hovered in a halo around the dagger. Then the dagger dropped to the ground as Melody's magic disappeared.

All that was left was blood.


	2. Her Mother's Necklace

**Summary: **An attack in the woods gifts Belle with more than just scrapes and bruises – a secret shared with someone more reptile than man, and the unwanted attentions of a queen willing to wait.

**Warnings: **Graphic violence and rape, coarse language

**Chapter 1: Her Mother's Necklace**

-4 Years Ago-

Rumpelstiltskin watched from the top of his tower as two Hunters attempted to take a magic-born woman in Lord Maurice's fiefdom. [Imbeciles] It was doomed from the start. He'd had his eye on Melody Valborg for a decade now. She'd avoided two prior attempts at being Collected, the most recent almost nine years ago. [1yr later – moved to Rochelle] He understood the lust for them, those blessed with innate power. But still, it was a waste of time to take someone who so clearly didn't want to be taken.

[Waste not to take them when young, terrible waste]

Magic, he found, developed a rather _bitter _quality [Stubborn] if the source was too unyielding.

Better to Collect them as children, just as their magic was blossoming. Before they got it into their heads to have a family or anything equally as disruptive [Unnecessary]. And untamed magic, before the young ones learnt to control it, was a precious commodity. He could use some of it himself [Strengthen Traveller's Courage, fire-proof the cygnet ring, that topaz tonic was refusing to stay topaz] – powerful ingredient. But buying from Traders was such an ugly business. [Haggling is so distasteful, nowhere near the elegance of our deals] Shame that none of the babies he'd ever acquired had turned out to be magically inclined.

[Speaking of babies...]

Rumpelstiltskin cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. Not three steps away from the body bleeding out into the dirt, was a little girl, staring at the magic-born who'd chosen death over Collection. The cherub wasn't running. [Admirable] She wasn't screaming. She wasn't even crying. Instead, she stumbled over to the body and knelt in the pool of blood. [Not squeamish. More admirable] Tiny hands reached for the face of her mother [Mother? No, nursemaid] and closed the woman's eyes, one at a time.

[Always a shame to spill magical blood. Waste. Terrible waste]

Two arms came and lifted the girl off the body, commoners drawn to the scene. Her white frock was stained. She was slowly carried away and Rumpelstiltskin heard a soft, "Who were they?"

[Old language. Must be a noble. Maurice's daughter, perhaps?]

"Ah, little princess, bad mens come into our lands. But don't you worry now; we'll get you back to your father all safe and sound."

[Maurice's daughter then. What was her name?]

"They came for Old Aunt Melody, didn't they?"

"Aye, m'lady."

"Why?"

"These things happen, that's all."

The girl twisted in the man's arms and frowned. [What was her name] "No they don't. People don't just come and hurt other people for no reason," her young tongue struggled to add levity to the words. "It's because she's magic, isn't it? That's what the red light was. Was she always hiding?"

[Name, name, name...]

The man sighed and began to take the steps up towards the castle doors. "Now don't you worry yourself about the Black Hunters, m'lady, they'll not come for you. You'll be safe. No need to worry your head about magic and such. You think about the handsome prince you'll marry one day, that'll keep you sleeping sound tonight."

The child stared at him some more, a small pout on her lips. She craned her neck back as if to catch one more glimpse of her nurse, but they had long left the body behind. After what seemed like heavy consideration, she flopped boneless against the bigger man's neck and closed her eyes.

Rumpelstiltskin slowly turned away from the mirror and wandered over to his workbench [topaz gone grey. Again], deep in thought. There was a child he needed to keep an eye on. Who knew, one day he might need a strong princess.

[Ah yes, of course. Belle]

X

-Present-

At eleven, Belle was spritely and just learning how to jump on her horse Toadsy. Toadsy was rather an ugly thing, with a splattering of toad-like colours across his hide and spotted like a disease down his legs. But he was calm and fond of apples and Belle almost always chose him to ride because he liked to go down to the creek and nuzzle at her neck. Toadsy wasn't a stallion, so he didn't tower over her that much, a fact she rather loved him for.

That evening she was leaning against some roots and reading a book her new nursemaid Siiria had given to her. After Melody, Belle hadn't taken a liking to any of the replacements for the simple reason that they were _replacements_. They stayed for a few months before Belle thought of some creative way to get rid of them. Her Papa knew very well what was going on but he hadn't scolded her yet, so. But Siiria had a sweet face and let Belle out of the castle more often than she should have and could read quite well and liked to share her small store of books from the Summer Isles.

Just up to chapter three, when the heroine, Tahlia, realises the man she's met is actually a prince, Toadsy gave a snuff and neighed nervously. Belle gathered herself up and reached out a hand to stroke at his nose.

"Perhaps we should go home," she murmured, tucking her book into a bag slung over her shoulders and leading him to a knobbly root that she could use as a boost. Her eyes darted around once she was settled in the saddle, having learnt the hard way that shadows at the corners of ones eyes and strange figures were almost always exactly as dangerous as they seemed.

She set off into a quick trot and then sped to a canter as soon as she caught sight of something at the edge of her vision. Daring a glance backwards, there was nothing but the dance of leaves in the wind and the scurry of something that couldn't be larger than a cat. She was as spooked as Toadsy.

Shaking her head as they reached the path that would meander up to the Main Road, she forced them down to a walk and wished her heart would slow as easily. Melody would shudder to see her now, quailing at nothing more than the setting of the sun. She'd never shivered at darkness, not even after...

But there it was again!

Something darted to her left and –

And now there was something at her right –

And then –

Toadsy whinnied and stumbled forward into an awkward half-run. Belle was too distracted to do much with the reins except grip them until the leather cut into her palms. She watched, equal amounts afraid and awestruck as a piece of the shrubbery broke off from the rest of the woods. It was impressive camouflage, Belle thought, as a man approached, a malicious smile upon his mud-smeared face.

"Well, what 'ave we 'ere?" He had a rough-hewn spear pointed at her chest.

To her left, a man holding an improvised axe stepped forward. "Seems like we've got a lost little missy."

Two more men flanked her and Belle felt a panic begin to rise in her throat. Before she could open her mouth, a woman holding a dagger jabbed it in her direction. Belle gave a yelp and Toadsy twitched, his muscles tenser than she'd ever seen. "Scream all you like, no one will here you this far from the city."

"It's only a twenty minute ride," she said, determined to be defiant.

"Twenty's a long while on an 'orse."

"You live up in the castle, missy?"

She nodded mutely, silent in the face of such hatred. Belle was more terrified of the loathing in their eyes than the weapons in their hands. She couldn't think of what she'd ever done to deserve being looked at like she was not worth the muck at the bottom of their sandals.

"Like that saddle," said the woman, inching up towards the horse. Toadsy shuffled, getting skittish. Belle was terrified the usually even-tempered beast would launch up the hill and throw her backwards. She shortened his reins and gripped harder. "Bit fancy for the likes of you."

Belle almost told them that the 'likes of her' were certainly allowed to have a good saddle (a birthday present from her Papa) but quickly thought better of it. She shut her mouth closed with a snap and grit her teeth. "I didn't steal it, if that's what you mean."

Her ambushers chortled. "You live up in the castle?"

"Yes."

"O yeah?"

"I'm...a scullery maid."

They laughed again, "Cor, a wench from the kitchens on one of the Lord's horses? Mighty big liar you are, missy. Who are you really, now?"

Belle held her tongue and tried to glare. But the two men behind her were less than an arm's length away and she couldn't keep turning her head back around to keep them in sight. She'd grow a crick in her neck. Her fingers felt sweaty on the reins and Toadsy was baying in full force now, breathing heavily from his nostrils as the pieces of sharpened flint and iron danced near his head.

"That's a mighty fine necklace you have on, wench. Is real gold?"

One hand tightening instinctively around her neck, she loosened her grip on the reigns and Toadsy bucked, taking advantage of her distraction to jump forward. Belle shrieked, legs not strong enough to hold on and tumbled off the saddle, landing winded on the ground with seven sneering faces looking down on her.

A hand gripped her arm and pulled her upright, pushing his breath into her face.

"Let go of me!" she thrashed. Two other hands gripped her and someone yanked the gold and pearls off her neck. It cut into her flesh, and then snapped, spraying beads and chain across the gravel. "Let me go! _Let me go!_ Let me – "

She struck at one man with her book bag and he released her with a growl, shaking his head, a dark expression growing on his brow. "This little bitch hit me!"

He reached a ham-like hand forward and yanked at bag, the strap sliding through her clammy fingers, tossing it to the side and advancing with a snarl, axe lifted over his head. She scrambled backwards off the road and stumbled in the shrubs, frock catching on the twigs. Belle keeled over and landed on her rear, arms thrown over her head as he towered, spittle flying from his mouth.

"I'll teach you a lesson, little slut, I'll teach you – "

He swung the axe.

"_Stop!_"

Belle sobbed, eyes squeezed shut waiting for impact but it never came. She peered up through her arms at the weapon, hanging in midair. The man stared, red-faced and wide eyed at her. His hand was still on the axe and he tried to push but it hung there, as unyielding as if it had buried itself into a tree trunk.

"What did you _do_?"

The man jumped backwards, yanking his hand from the wooden handle as if burnt and the axe still hovered, two heads above where Belle cowered.

"She's a witch!"

They retreated, muttering darkly among themselves. Belle crawled away from the frozen axe and curled up at the base of a tree, staring at her attackers through a film of tears and horror and confusion. They approached her, wariness replacing their aggression. She heard the word, mumbled under their breaths, reflected in the sudden fear in their eyes.

_Magic._

"We'll sell her to the Hunters, make a nice big profit of it," the woman flashed some teeth. "She's just a wee thing. Seven of us to one of her."

"But Lyra, she's got magic."

"I've seen magic-borns before," she crept forward to where Belle was trembling, her legs bent and body low to the ground, like a cat stalking its prey, "A boy in my village had it, they said. Couldn't control it at all. And then they came and took him away, poor bugger. This one don't know what to do with it either, I can tell."

She was only two steps away and Belle whimpered, tucking her knees in tighter and burying her head as she glimpsed the sharp edge of her dagger. "Stop," she whispered, tears and fright making her voice weak, "Please...please stop."

But the point of the knife stuck in at the side of her neck, anyway. It was the coldest thing she'd ever felt.

"That's it, little bird, don't make a fuss and you'll get to keep your head."

Rope twisted around her ankles and pulled tight. Belle still had her head ducked, not even daring to breathe. Forceful hands untwisted her arms and pulled her up, they tied her wrists behind her and someone yanked her chin up. It was the man she'd hit. He spat in her face and then laughed like it was the funniest joke he'd ever heard.

"I'll take her. I'll give her the ride of her life," he spoke over his shoulder. "We'll meet you at the crossing to Avonlea, after I teach the slut a lesson about respecting her elders."

There was a light pattering of laughter, before the man grabbed her at the hips and swung her over his shoulder. Belle was so surprised she didn't even have a chance to yelp before she felt him walk further into the undergrowth. Soon, the sight of the others and the road disappeared. The sun had well and truly set and Belle was shivering from more than fear.

He dumped her on a bed of leaves and crouched to untie her legs. Belle wet her lips and tried to muster up her voice.

"Bring me back to the castle," she croaked, sounding much less certain than she'd intended. She tried again. "My father will thank you with great rewards."

He ignored her and twisted the rope, a smile that didn't look like any other smile she'd ever seen gracing his features. Belle wasn't silly enough to attempt to move even though her feet were free. She swallowed a sob and pushed on, "He'll give you whatever you want, the greatest weapons, the most beautiful jewels that we have. A knighthood, if you like?"

Belle trailed off into an uncertain squeak at the nasty snort he gave. "And who's this father of yours then, wench?"

"Lord Maurice."

"Ha. And mine's the King."

"He is!"

"You're trying to tell me the Lord would let his daughter out miles from the castle with no chaperone and wearing this," he fingered her drab beige frock. Belle cursed herself. She hated being drenched in finery, but perhaps, if she'd allowed Siiria to dress her in the purple robes...

"The necklace!" she pleaded, "Please, you have to believe me. The necklace was my mothers. You saw how fine the metalwork was, please, sir."

"Sir?" he guffawed and lowered himself to all fours, taking two calloused hands and roughly spreading her legs. A jolt of panic flew up Belle's spine but she wasn't quite sure why. "I'm no _sir_. And you stole the necklace obviously, just like you'd stolen away with one of the Lords horses today, shirking your duties no doubt."

Belle had no words to fight his certainty and by now, she had more pressing matters than to stubbornly fight to prove she was the Princess. His hands were lifting up her skirts and she fought the scream in her throat, trying to shuffle backwards but he put a solid hand at her hip and she was pinned. A kind of instinctual dread curled in the base of her spine. She didn't understand what this meant, him kneeling between her legs and looking at her like she was a particularly tender leg of lamb. Yet she knew, down to her bones, what was bound to happen.

"Stop. What are you doing?" Her voice was nearly lost on the rising wind.

He smirked and sat back on his haunches, tugging at the ties around his breeches, "You'll be fucked by all sorts once we give you over to the Hunters. Best get used to it now."

"Stop stop. Please, stop." He thumbed her inner thigh and spread her wider. Alarm made her throat strong. "_Stop. Stop!_ Help!"

The man was laughing at her and lowered his pants. Belle took one look and threw back her head, screaming. Shrieking. Her pleas scaring birds as they took to the sky. The man tried to smother her with a palm and she bit him, rolling onto her stomach as he hissed, distracted. He dragged her back and threw her on her back. She kicked out at him, angry, furious, terrified tears seeping from her eyes.

"Help! Help! Please, someone! _Stop! Get off me!_"

A fist silenced her.

The pain immobilised her jaw and her right eye closed shut of its own accord. She heard her heartbeat in her head, throbbing alongside her bruising face. Hands reached between her legs once more and she whimpered, a pitiful sound that disappeared into the leaves. The man spread himself out above her, his heat rolling off him like her own waves of desperation and despair. Hot breath engulfed her neck and shoulders.

Belle was determined she wouldn't cry anymore. And she wouldn't give him the pleasure of her screams. If her hands weren't still tied, she'd claw his eyes out.

She'd dig her nails into them and _shred_ them from his sockets.

She tried to keep breathing. His weight was crushing her.

She waited to feel him. Surely he would breach her now, any moment...any moment...

"Best get out from under there, dearie."

Belle managed to open her left eye, the right swollen beyond function, and twist her head. His face was right there, closer than any man barring her father had ever been. She winced as he seemed to grow three times as heavy. Then she noticed he was unblinking. Her stomach rolled. Something warm and wet dripped from his half-open mouth onto her collarbone.

Belle looked for the owner of the voice, a mere wheedle, a slight tinge of giggle. She tried to roll to her side but the man's weight was too much and she slumped back, breathing hard. "I can't," she panted, then quickly added, "Sir."

The voice didn't belong to any knight she knew, but it was better to be safe than risk insulting her saviour. The weight was removed, not via armoured arms and legs, but through a gauzy blue glow that lifted him and threw him aside like food scraps from the table. He landed with a thump in some shrubbery and was partly obscured from her view. Belle struggled to a sit and followed the blue glow to where it originated, from the hands of a man dressed in leathers and reptile skins.

She blushed and attempted to straighten her skirts with shuffling thighs. The man grinned and flicked a hand at her. Warmth enveloped her wrists and the rope felt away. She brought her hands to her face, saw the red welts there and stood up on shaky legs.

"Thank you, sir," was all she managed before she lost the battle to the overwhelming urge to cry. Burying hands in her face, she could only stand in the small clearing and try not to sniffle too much. It was unladylike to sob. Oh, Melody, she'd be so disappointed to see Belle now.

"There, there, princess, all's well."

She looked up and saw he'd taken several steps towards her. At first, she was so distracted by the realisation that he wasn't wearing reptile skins, but _was_ a reptile, that she didn't notice the delicate square of silk offered in her direction. She took it, a tremor in her fingers and mopped herself up as well as she could. The white was smeared with dirt when she next looked at it and she was ashamed to give it back, it was so ruined.

The reptile waved a careless hand as she hesitated, "No need. There are plenty where that came from. Now, Belle, your father's men will find you in a few moments, we haven't much time."

She stared and then registered his words. Seeing two huge gold eyes looking at her in, well, _fascination_, she managed a watery smile. "Thank you."

The fascination dropped off and the corners of his lips turned down.

"You've already said," he sounded, if anything slightly irritated at her thanks. "Do you know who I am?"

Belle shook her head quickly.

"Ah," he clasped his hands behind his back and looked off into space for several seconds. "And have you heard of the Dark One?"

She nodded slowly.

"And what have you heard of him?"

"He steals babies sir," she answered demurely, "He makes deals."

He was still looking at a spot over her shoulder, "And if you met the Dark One, what deal would you make?"

Belle was quiet for a long moment and then, "I wouldn't make one, sir. None can ever afford his price."

That drew his eyes back to her. He looked her up and down and then nodded briskly, as if he was her schoolmaster and she'd performed well in her tests. Carefully, like he was afraid she'd run off, he stretched a deliberate arm towards her. Then, with a smooth movement, more of that blue glow flowed out and onto her face. Belle flinched but didn't retreat. When she opened her eyes again, she realised her right side was no longer swollen and she couldn't taste blood inside her mouth anymore. She gingerly poked at her bruised face and found it was bruised no longer.

The reptile looked satisfied. She opened her mouth to thank him again and he scowled so she held her tongue.

He spoke in the same high, laughing voice, "You'd do well to tell no one of what happened here."

Once more, she opened her mouth and once more he guessed her question.

"Oh no, tell your father of the attack on you and your horse and how they tried to take your mother's necklace and how this brute wanted to defile you," he held up a scaled finger and she watched the last of the day's sunlight dance across it as he waved it from side to side, "But no mention of the axe."

She gaped, "You saw?"

"In a sense," he said vaguely and knelt until he was her height, "Even men loyal to your father can be tempted by one such as you. Better keep this our little secret."

Belle bit her lip and thought, "So it really was...magic?"

The reptile giggled and she saw hideous teeth, stained yellow and cracked with age.

"But...the other ones, the ones who attacked me," she shook her head, "They're gone. And they saw too. They'll tell the Hunters. They said they were going to the crossing near Avonlea – "

"Shh," it came out as a hiss but she fell silent nonetheless, "They are taken care of."

"So they're – "

"Oi! Over here!"

They both looked up to see the breast of a war horse and a man calling back over his shoulder. Belle turned back to see the reptile put a finger to his lips and she nodded. Then, before the knight could spot him, he disappeared in a cloud of blue smoke.

"Princess! Are you hurt, princess?"

"Belle!"

"Papa!"

Knights flooded the area and she was met with long equine legs everywhere. Her father jumped off his horse and embraced her, a stream of worry falling from his lips starting with Siiria letting her go out alone (again) and finishing with seeing Toadsy without a rider galloping up the Main Road. Belle only heard half of it. She squirmed out of his arms and bent to pick up something glinting in the grass, where the reptile man had been crouching.

It was her necklace, unbroken and shinier than she'd ever seen it.

X

Halfway across the kingdoms, the Evil Queen sat at her boudoir and watched Lord Maurice's knights uncover the body of Bryan, a fisherman's son turned rogue. It had been rather amusing watching Rumpel dismember his companions on the road to Avonlea. But not anywhere near as intriguing as his conversation with the young 'princess' afterwards.

She sighed, it would be easy to send one of the Hunters after the little girl and steal her away in the night, but, if the Dark One had eyes on her – perhaps it would be better to let it play out. She was only a child; she couldn't be used as a brood mare just yet.

They could wait.

She doubted Belle would have any real control of her powers for years. Let Rumpel have his toy. The Hunters would Collect her eventually anyway, still young and fertile and deliciously untamed.

It just required a little patience.


	3. Only Your Heart

**Summary: **Belle wants a teacher, Rumpelstiltskin is taken aback and reacts in the only way he knows how – by making a deal. Meanwhile, Regina makes her own bargain.

**Warnings: **One instance of coarse language

**Chapter 2: Only Your Heart**

Siiria was in big trouble. Papa was having a rather strict talk to her down in his study. Belle glanced at the door, knowing there was a knight standing vigil just outside. She bit her lip and tried not to think about anything much. Her hands trembled, so she clasped them together and pretended she hadn't noticed.

The necklace lay out on her dressing table, looking odder than she'd ever remembered in the firelight.

She recalled the reptile man's words, about the Dark One. Now Belle may have been young but she was no fool. It took her a little while, to be fair, but after some thought, she was now almost completely certain. The reptile man had _been_ the Dark One. The realisation made her twist her fingers together and inch closer to the warmth of the fire. She remembered stories meant to frighten her from staying up late reading books. They were about Rumpelstiltskin, come to steal her for being naughty – scaled and brown, with big green and gold eyes and a vicious mouth.

She could hardly believe the creature of those nursery tales had saved her and then asked nothing in return – except that she keep the..._magic_, a secret. If she was honest, Belle was almost relieved at that. How would she have even begun to tell her Papa? Being little came with the advantage of getting into small places and listening to the adults talk about things that she would supposedly be told 'when she was older.' She knew what happened to magic-borns in the kingdoms. People, even Siiria, who was quite forthcoming in other topics (to the blushing chagrin of everyone else), spoke in tongues about it. The vagueness of the whole matter only helped in making Belle think it would be very horrible indeed, to have magic.

If Rumpelstiltskin hadn't cautioned her, Belle would have felt obliged to inform her dear father. She could see it all clearly: she'd be stuck in a carriage by now, riding in the night towards the border with the ogrelands, reaching some cabin at daybreak on the outskirts of the kingdoms and forced to hide there for eternity.

She had to admit, silence seemed wiser. Glancing back over her shoulder to look at her dresser, Belle eyed the necklace with as much intensity as she could gather in her weary mind.

Well, she had nothing else to do tonight except dread sleep and the dreams that would come with it.

Staring very hard at the necklace, rising and stalking closer, she whispered, "_Come._"

It didn't do much except maybe twitch a bit. Belle swallowed and placed both hands on either side of the circlet, palms flat on the dark wood and focused on the way light moved across the pearls, the sheen of the gold, the intricate detailing, the iron clasp and the slight rusting that had been there but was now gone, the way it sat in its velvet lined box –

_Come._

_Come where?_

_To my neck._

Then, watching with a very dry mouth and an odd dizziness, the necklace lifted itself into the air and drifted towards her. The clasp fell open of its own accord. The necklace stretched until it was a straight chain and then wrapped itself gently around her throat, as if aware of her trepidation. Belle pulled up handfuls of brown hair and felt the clasp click behind her then settle upon her skin with a familiar weight.

She caressed it. The necklace seemed to hum at the touch, like a dog being pet. It was an impossible idea. Necklaces weren't living. It was impossible. Wasn't it?

Belle looked at herself in the mirror, just to make sure. Yes, it was very obviously sitting around her neck.

Then she gasped, clutching her middle.

_Darling, just a word perhaps? The man before, he touched me with magic. Maybe we should be careful – you shouldn't wear me too long._

The reflection of her face was enough to get her to stumble back from the glass and onto the bed. She'd never felt anything so bizarre in her life. As if her insides had hollowed out for a second, as if she was floating just an inch outside her body and where there had once been stomach and heart and lungs that filled with breath – there was nothing. Only...feeling. Only a whispering warmth, a touch of knowledge.

Like hearing words on the wind. Except there weren't really words. The necklace didn't _speak_. It had no mouth. It had no ears. No. It seemed to...communicate by simply _being_. She rubbed a thumb along her favourite pearl and thought, feeling supremely foolish if nothing happened:

_You mean, Rumpelstiltskin?_

"Hello, dearie."

She gasped, heart hammering away again. The reptile man stood with his back to her at the fire.

"You called me. I'll admit, I did think it would take you longer to figure it out," his voice was high, unpleasant in the way it jarred on the wrong parts of sentences. "You have questions."

Belle physically struggled for breath. To be pulled from her body and suspended in another _place_, and then dropped back to reality by that _voice_. Too much sensation for her to bear and she was glad she was already sitting.

Finding her tongue and sending a panicked glance at the door, she cleared her throat and tried to sound as polite as possible, "Yessir. I do, sir."

"Don't simper," he swung around, face dark with the light behind him, "It doesn't become you. Ask your questions."

Belle hesitated. Rumpelstiltskin inclined his head at the straining silence. He was all tension and sharp edges and fiddling fingers.

"The princess is afraid."

It seemed only right to at least attempt a retort. He laughed at her and smiled widely. Her fear pleased him more than her thanks. Belle looked him up and down, not that tall of a man, certainly not as tall as her father. She touched a finger to her necklace, unconscious of it until she chanced her reflection in the mirror.

"You don't like my magic on your mother's treasure."

Belle looked surprised but found that she couldn't disagree.

"Yet you called me."

"I didn't mean to."

He hissed. She flinched, waiting for punishment for her careless comment. A glow erupted behind her eyelids and she jerked up, Rumpelstiltskin was holding something in his hand. No, not something. _Magic_. A cerulean blue orb.

Her hand was already halfway towards it before she caught herself and rubbed it fretfully on her skirt instead. The Dark One didn't seem like he was going to curse her for her disrespect – because it really was disrespectful, saying that someone's magic was unwelcome.

And what _was_ that?

Staring into the blue depths, where something was most definitely moving, she couldn't turn away. She took another step towards it and then retreated back three shuffling ones before Rumpelstiltskin caught her reluctant eye and nodded. Just once. A serious nod. Not even a hint of a laugh behind it.

He extended his hand and for moment, it was as if he would pass it to her.

"Can you teach me? Magic, I mean," the words were out before she even realised, just a hushed plea as she watched the firelight dance across the surface of that swirling, living mass. It was pulsing. A steady throb. She wanted to feel it. It would be warm, she was sure.

"Teach you," he said the words as if they were unfamiliar, in the same soft voice, "How?"

"Lessons," she mumbled, entranced by the thing in the centre – if she could just get a little closer, "Like my dancing master, or...or..."

She had her hands cupped around the sphere before she realised, just a feather away from touch, her nose hovering above it. Belle couldn't tell, was that white fire inside? She saw a flash of red. A comet! No. It was blood. Or was it shadow? The figure of a man, trapped inside?

Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head and surveyed her, eyes black and glittering with the image of his orb. Belle managed to peel her own away and found herself remarkably close to someone she was supposed to be afraid of. His eyes looked glassy. "And what will you give me in return?"

Belle licked her lips, "I don't know. What do you want?"

X

They both froze at that. Rumpelstiltskin was caught between wry amusement and mind blowing glee. Hadn't he always wanted a young magic-born to do as he pleased? [Since Cora] He _knew_ this girl was worth keeping an eye on. The orb grew in size and instead of gasping and tottering back; Belle watched it expand around her fingers with open mouth and laughing eyes.

"It's like...warm honey," she murmured, "It tastes like oranges."

"Oranges." [Oranges?]

Regina would explode from jealousy if he turned up with a perfectly trained magic-born; obedient, young [Oh so young] and a princess to boot [Not actual princess but – semantics]

"Fresh snow, freezing water in the stream on a hot day. Burnt parchment."

[How is she feeling that?] Was that his magic? Yes, he watched it ripple over her small wrist. It was hypnotic. He was jolted out of the trance by a voice reminding him [She's unharmed] she was not burning from the touch. [Interesting] Even the Dark One hesitated in directly handling other people's magic. Repelling other people's spells and attacks was one thing, wilfully stepping into another person's essence was [Painful] costly. All magic had its price. Yet Belle was beaming now, staring into the depths and muttering.

He'd never seen that before. [Jealous]

"Take it," Rumpelstiltskin offered on a sudden whim [What?] She looked up and he almost took a step back. The girl seemed almost...[Trusting] pleased.

He released the orb and watched her attempt to juggle it, now so large it was twice the size of her head. It ran through her fingers like water, unsuccessfully uncontained in a cupped palm. The globe collapsed and liquid light poured into the air, like upending a bucket. The blue faded, greying before his eyes and turning into steam that rose and tickled his face, bringing with it a phantom wind.

It was warm. [Never done that before] Strange.

When all was gone, she sighed heavily and looked up, [Happy], expectant.

Oh yes...what deal would he broker in return for teaching her? What was it that the dear Queen did when she required loyalty in her subjects...

[No need for that. You'll only scare her away]

"What I want, dearie," he put out his right hand, palm up, "Is your heart."

Belle recoiled and instinctively placed two hands over her chest. At the closing off of her [Surprisingly] express face, he tried hard not to sag. To hide [Unwanted] slouching shoulders, Rumpelstiltskin giggled, "You can keep it inside you if it matters that much, dearie. I only need your hand."

"And you'll teach me how to use my...my magic," she said slowly, staring at the offered palm, and then at barely a whisper, "None can ever afford his price."

[She'll say no!]

"I'm not asking for jewels or gold or first born children," he wheedled, gritting his teeth as if all three had personally insulted him, "I only want your heart. Who else would you give it to? Your Papa, to keep in a box?"

[Unfurl fingers] Rumpelstiltskin stretched a hand that had momentarily curled into itself. He wanted to lunge across and grab her, cementing the deal. Instead, in an act of great [Kindness] patience, he settled for breathing at a casual pace. And waiting.

She blew up her cheeks and sucked on a corner of her lower lip, pondering.

[She'll say no. You'll have to force their hand. As always]

Belle placed her left in his right. [What?] Rumpelstiltskin stared for all of three seconds before he clasped her in a solid cage. [Quickly, before she changes her mind!]

They both stared as more blue light, icy this time, engulfed them. She sucked in a breath and tensed, but didn't withdraw. Rumpelstiltskin realised that the cold, [Intense cold], must be painful for her skin [Unscaled|Fragile]

Before the blue had even dimmed, he released her, unwilling to cause her more harm than necessary [Deal sealed by then, anyway]

She slid out of his hold and turned her palm over, inspecting the red blotches upon her flesh. [Cold burn] Then, with a guilty flick of her eyelashes, she shifted half her body away and reached for her chest. He knew she was checking to see if her heart was still there.

[It was]

X

Rumpelstiltskin quitted the castle of the Rochelle fiefdom and appeared in the foyer of his own. [Oranges? Really?] He was just unclasping the brooch of his heavy cloak and pushing through the double doors to the main room, with the wooden table he was rather fond of [Plain but practical] to find his usual seat occupied with a great expansive of black cloth and smug face [How predictable]

"I'll give you a moment to freshen up, shall I?"

"One only bothers for ladies," he strode by her picking at his nails. "To what do I owe the agony of your company – did you anger another goblin tribe?"

Regina threw him an ugly look [Sits much more comfortably on her face] and rose to her feet [Attempt to use superior height as weapon]

"I've come to ask for something you have," [Voice at her regal best. Ineffective. Have seen her at her weakest|Will never forget that unicorn|Had that been fear?|Or hopelessness?]

"And what would I get in return for this something?"

"My silence."

[Huh]

She stalked forward [Where's the drum beat?], "Rochelle, nice part of the kingdoms this time of year?"

He wrinkled his nose, "Not a great range of species to insult. You wouldn't like it," he feigned thought, "What exactly did you call the dwarves that one time? Ah yes, 'semi-skilled labourers'."

Regina swirled her cloak [Attempt at being dramatic. Failed] and perched on the table near Rumpelstiltskin. If she was a cat [She'd be more pleasant] she'd be bristling with rage. "I'll let you keep her."

"Were you under the impression you had the ability to take her from me?" Rumpelstiltskin sniggered. "Confident, are we?"

"Very."

"Unwise." [Very unwise|Presumptuous|Disrespectful]

"Not at all," she smiled [Definite family resemblance to Cora] "I own the Black Hunters."

"The highest bidder owns the Hunters," he scoffed. "They know no loyalty to Queens or Kings."

She laughed, a sound like cruel bells in cold wind, "They're not my subjects Rumpel, but the King's treasury is far handsomer than he ever was."

"Even a bought man has their pressure point," he returned a laugh of his own.

Regina retreated just an inch at the sight of his teeth. "It won't come to that. Not if you give me what I want."

[Oh yes, that]

"Graham?"

"He's here, I presume."

"You want me to part with my Collection."

"You don't need him," she ticked off a checklist in the air, "You don't use him."

"Not in the way you plan to."

Regina surveyed him, "But in the way you plan to use Belle."

[She spoke her name]

"Don't be crude, dearie, you wear it poorly," he wandered over to the wheel in the corner and turned his back. "And what use could you have with a tamed magic-born when you have your darling mother's book – well, _my_ book, actually – and all our lessons together." [Memories that will always be cherished]

She didn't reply and he glanced over his shoulder to clarify, "Other than as a fuckbuddy of course."

"Don't be crude, Rumpel," she parroted, "Let's say I have need of a male counterpoint."

"You've found a female," he said slowly. [How had he missed that?] "Where."

"George's kingdom. Hiding in a hole, living off rats poor thing," Regina stuck out her bottom lip. Rumpelstiltskin grinned, triumphant.

"So, not a child then?"

Her pout disappeared and she pursed her lips, "Always so competitive. But it's not my intention to Collect a little girl," he looked unconvinced [Regina had been drooling for child's magic for a decade now], "Don't look so sceptical, Rumpel. Your little thing won't be of breeding age for years yet – and by that time, I'm certain I'll have one of my own."

[She couldn't really be...she was]

"You think you can breed them. Why not use one yours?" She did have Collected males of her own, after all.

Regina rolled her eyes and pulled out her fingers, flicking each one down as she listed, "Pyotr and Samson were the King's you know, they won't do. Laurence struggled too hard when I...well, his magic...he doesn't listen to me," she almost looked ashamed, before taking a deep breath and ploughing onwards, "John is older than I would like, Garrick went..." [Insane fighting her will] "He's not available either, and I gave Creon and Michael to King Midas because – I suppose you already know why."

He looked up from his spinning and humoured her with an emotionless smile. "So you'll have Graham. My only Collected, whatever will I do without him?"

"I'm certain you'll drown your sorrows in your new pet from Rochelle," she smiled back, equally as vicious in intent.

Rolling the wheel in silence, taking great joy in stretching it out until Regina was shuffling her weight from foot to foot, he finally said, "Your dreams of creating a magic-born army are only that, dreams."

"One can try," she hissed back impatiently, "Now hand me his magic. You're just as curious as I am about whether this will work. And I'll leave your shiny new toy alone for the time being."

[For the time being]

"Deal."

Rumpelstiltskin called forth Graham, a sandy haired man with an easy smile. Without looking up from his wool, he magicked forward a large glass bowl with matching lid, sealed shut with hot wax. Inside, a copper coloured substance that was not quite air and not quite liquid swirled, pulsed and _breathed_. Graham shot him a worried look, not yet aware of what was happening. Regina put on her brightest [Fakest] smile and stroked his cheek. Rumpelstiltskin demanded his magic-born to stay put and Graham didn't so much as flinch. [He would miss that compliance]

Then Regina reached for the bowl. When her fingers came in touch with the glass, Graham screamed. Still frozen with Rumpelstiltskin's command upon him, he yelled in pain and was unable to double over or sink to his knees.

[Hmm]

He'd forgotten about that part of Collection transfer. Something about breaking the bond with the original master leaving irreversible damage on a magic-born's soul.

[Regina's problem now]

* * *

**I'm notorious for not finishing stories, as some of you probably know. So this time I've written 25 000 words already and I'll be posting a chapter every one or two days. Your reviews, favs and follows are my chipped cups :)**


	4. Purple and Red

**Summary: **Belle grows up playing with blue beetles and purple flowers. But childhood, even the blissfully ignorant one Rumpelstiltskin has created for her, doesn't last forever. No one learns that quicker than Red, a lonely magic-born captured by Regina, half a kingdom away.

**Warnings: **Very mild coarse language, mild violence, heavily implied non-con

**Chapter 3: Purple and Red**

During the autumn of her thirteenth year, Belle road up to the rocky slopes of the mountains to pick a rare purple flower. A large, rose-like blossom, but instead of gentle curves, edraianthus had spiked petals. The trip took a good three hours at a comfortable walk (and walking really was Toadsy's favourite pace).

Belle read all of Siiria's 'Illusions and Delusions of the Far East' and managed to make good headway on the quilt they were using for the Summoning of the Winter.

A merchant carrying oils and soaps walked by with his mule. It took Belle far too long to realise the reason he looked as if he would keel over was because the book was amenably hanging at eye level while the needle and gold thread stiched unaided on her lap and the leather reins hovered midair, supported by invisible hands. Belle's actual hands were feasting on blackberries.

("No, we can't turn him into a beetle!" "He'd make a lovely beetle, I'd give him iridescent blue wings and everything" "No_._" "But –" "_No._")

Rumpelstiltskin (masquerading as a manservant with a glass eye) had to wipe the man's memory with a faceful of fairydust and rancid smelling enchantments. When the spell had cleared, the man was lying in a pile, snoring, with a generous beard of brightest blue. Rumpelstiltskin sniggered and danced ahead.

Belle rolled her eyes and managed to get the laces of his shiny black boots to untie and tangle together. He abruptly stopped singing about a three-legged sailor who killed a mermaid and bowled over, falling flat onto his borrowed face with a grunt.

When he returned the man's facial hair to a reasonable colour (still not his natural black, but she'd tried, hadn't she?) Belle freed him from hobbling and earned a very unpleasant zap to her bare arms. A white scorch mark swelled and she responded by commanding his glass eye to expand unpleasantly in the socket.

Rumpelstiltskin growled and Belle plunged to the ground, Toadsy scuttering at her ankles; a grass rat wearing a minature saddle. She narrowed her eyes and slammed her book over Rumpelstiltskin's unusual head of red hair (because blending in hadn't seemed a high priority when he'd planned to turn all witnesses into blue dibbifer beetles for further 'experimentation'). He took the book and set it alight with a click of his fingers and an impossibily smug expression.

She wrestled with the burning pages in her mind, demanding them not crumble to ash. Rumpelstiltskin's magic tasted like oranges in her mouth but smelled tantalizingly like her favourite plum pudding – he was distracting her. When the book inevitably succumbed to the Dark One's overpowering strength, she pouted with all her might and managed to get handfuls of dirt and launch them at his face.

Some particles even succeeded in lodging down his throat. She demanded they stick there and Rumpelstiltskin was coughing up blood for several moments until a tree branch yanked at her wrists and tugged her, screaming, to join the other branches atop the canopy. Belle caught her indignant breath and was glad she'd chosen to pull on breeches. After minutes of screaming, fake tears and promises to hand over first-born children – the branch finally lowered her to the ground, far more gently than she'd expected.

Rumpelstiltskin walked up to her stormy face and obstinately crossed arms. He wiped the jovial grin off the manservant's face (an expression she'd _never_ see on his use features) and pretended to be serious.

"I had to try a little that time. I suppose you are improving."

She just managed to not stick out her tongue when he tapped her on the nose and walked back to the road, where, mercifully, no one had come by. Belle didn't know if that was coincidence or not.

"Come on then, are you going to make your steed right or not?"

Grudgingly walking over, she looked down at the rat and then up at the sorceror. "I can't."

"Try."

Belle tried and when the rat surveyed her with an almost pitying expression, she scowled.

A bolt of Rumpelstiltskin's preferred dark blue gauzy magic streamed out and Belle backed away quickly as the rat became horse once more. The saddle, though, was still the size of her fist. She sighed and commanded it expanded to fit snugly around Toadsy's chest.

Two arms wrapped firmly around her waist and a second later, she found herself sitting upon the horse. The pale limbs of the manservant's rippled with ochre and moss coloured scales for a second as Rumpelstiltskin used the Dark One's strength. Belle almost quarreled against being lifted up like she was a baby but saw that the manservant had two normal eyes. Apparently he wouldn't risk her trick with the glass one again. She grinned, sure to show as much teeth as possible.

"Ow!"

For her cheek, an unharmed copy of Siiria's book landed firmly on her head. It nearly hit the ground but Belle quickly called it back to her hand. She rolled her eyes at the satisfied smirk her manservant was wearing like a medallion. Little pieces of rock and dust and sand skidded off the surface of her quilt and she tucked it carefully under her arm before riding forward with hands firmly on reins.

Best attempt to look as ordinary as possible.

She didn't think she'd last another round with Rumpelstiltskin. A dull ache had developed under her left eye and she felt a little nauseated. Two years and she still couldn't control the after effects of her magic. Too much in one go, especially coupled with what her teacher called 'heightened emotion', and she fell violently ill.

After they both had armfuls of edraianthus blooms, Rumpelstiltskin magicked most of them away, until just two remained in his hands. Belle was tiredly leaning against Toadsy's belly as she watched him crush the flower in his left, squeezing until it was a fine, purple powder. Before she could react, he strode to her and blew the dust in her face.

Once her eyes stopped streaming, she noticed him observing her like she was a particularly bright dibbifer beetle. "What?"

"Feeling better?"

She blinked and realised the headache and stomach troubles had subsided. So had the lethargy. He nodded smugly and took advantage of her surprise to tuck the flower in his right hand into her braid. As he hovered over her, she saw the human shimmer away and the reptile return.

"Once I return to the Dark Castle, I can fix up a tonic – maybe add a little cinnamon – to fight the sickness," he brushed back strands of her hair, all messed from their scuffle and the usually toil of the road, "We should have enough vials to last you until next winter, by which time I expect we'll have figured out a way to stop the effects. Until then, best not risk you being less than your best at all – "

Belle was hugging him around the middle. She inhaled the scent of him and was glad he'd changed back. His disguises always smelt...like cheese. It didn't make much sense but, she was finding, most magic didn't make sense. Not if you actually tried to _describe_ it. His natural scent was far better than any cheese. Rather coppery.

He awkwardly patted her back and had come to rest his chin on the crown of her head. "The powder works well enough now but might not be effective if you're very drained one day. The tonic should work even better if I Collect you."

She pulled back, frowning. After all the tales she'd squeezed out of him, she just couldn't think about Collection without an unpleasant shudder. It was different when Rumpelstiltskin spoke about it, of course. He didn't mean he wanted to bottle her magic until she was at his mercy. At least, she hoped not.

Sometimes when he was in his moods, she would doubt...

But no. Not the way he was looking down at her, all wide eyes and honesty. He'd asked once before, when she'd been working on aiming daggers and she'd been so conflicted that the dagger had swung in an arch and stabbed her cruelly in the thigh. I'd had been almost a year since he last brought it up. At least there were no sharp objects nearby this time.

Her hesitation, though, was enough of an answer and Rumpelstiltskin stroked the flower in her hair, brushing the curve of her ear as he did so and moved to hold Toadsy still while she vaulted onto his back. She breathed a sigh of relief and sincerely hoped it'd be another year before he broached the subject again.

X

The next summer, Belle sat cross-legged on her floor. The mirror was covered with a heavy cloak and Rumpelstiltskin was more movement than man, practically dancing on air.

She'd finally let him Collect her.

While he was humming tunelessly under his breath, working at the makeshift bench, she twisted her hands together and tried to distract herself with listening to the fireplace sulk at the weather being too warm for it to be any use.

"Come over here."

She shook herself out of the daze and her head gave a warning twinge. Rumpelstiltskin had his bowed over, hair fanning around his cheeks and Belle was glad she was spared looking at the unadulterated joy that must be there. Herself, she felt sick. After several more minutes of what was best described as organised chaos, Rumpelstiltskin looked up with a wide smile, holding aloft a flask with some murky grey substance in the bottom.

It looked like sludge.

"What do I...do?"

The smile fell from his face and they looked at each other and the potion in turn. Belle almost giggled. "Rumpelstiltskin," she said, forcing her most solemn face, "Have you ever done this before?"

He snarled and restlessly stepped around the bench to stand beside her. He thrust the flask into her hands and demanded she talk to it. Belle looked down at it in bemusement and shrugged.

_Hi_

_Hello, Belle_

_You look like sewage_

_As do you, my lady_

_That's rude. You look like muddied road but taste like oranges. It's odd_

_Thank you_

_You sound like – _

"I'm speaking to your _magic_." Rumpelstiltskin had been gazing at her with bated breath and at her comment he scowled and snatched it back from her. "I've never done that before. You should teach your magic some manners."

"You shouldn't insult my magic," he growled and unceremoniously dumped the contents in the grate, which lit up and began devouring the half-finished potion at a flick of his wrist. The bench and its assorted contents disappeared as he aimed a fretful kick to its leg. "It should have worked."

Belle shrugged again and suddenly he was before her, gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him. She attempt to twist away and only managed to deepen the bruises. "What?"

"Were you trying?"

"Yes!"

"Hmph."

"Why didn't it work?"

He giggled and his voice rose two octaves and crouched by the fire, not looking at her, "How should I know, dearie? It's your magic, after all."

She struggled not to roll her eyes at his theatrics. And she was supposed to be the child. "Maybe next time," she said, rubbing gingerly at her chin.

He twitched and halted the aggressive stirring of the fire. He didn't stand, nor look at her, but she was well versed in Rumpelstiltskin language by now. The lack of a biting comment meant he was slightly mollified. Good for him.

X

Two months later, as summer melted into an unusually chilly autumn Belle dismounted off Toadsy, ready to hand him to the stable boy when she saw the sticky patch of red on her saddle. She paled and sprinted for her room.

X

Siiria fussed over her. Her father blushed when he was informed and Belle tried very hard not to give into the urge to command the stone floors to open up and consume her. It was a near thing.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't visit her all of that week. She was careful not to touch her necklace.

Curled over into a ball and in too much pain to drop into sleep, she refused to get up and grab her book – sitting what may as well have been kingdoms away on her dresser.

_Come to me_

The book floated in the air and wobbled, as Belle's mind went strangely blank. Around the book, a pale beige haze glowed.

Well, that was new.

X

Regina lounged on her chaise, an emerald goblet filled with fine Ilium wine tilted to her lips. Graham stood sword straight at her feet. She leaned back and smiled indulgently at him. "So Rumpel's little thing has finally bled. Fascinating."

Graham didn't speak. Well, he couldn't. Regina had demanded he be silent in her presence this morning. She needed to think. It was high time she reel in that Rochellan bit – but was it worth upsetting Rumpel?

"And he still hasn't Collected her?" Graham moved as if to answer but she waved him away, "No, no. Rhetorical. I'd know if he had. Could it be he cares for her freedom...how novel."

"Your magesty?"

Two of her armoured guards stood by the door, a man between them. He was a snivelling, crying pile of human waste and she was very tempted to get Graham to see to him. She did _love_ Graham's power – it was so deliciously evil. Anyone who thought they weren't meant to be together was blind. But, self-control. It'd be better to hear what her new prisoner had to say about attempting to break into her castle.

She stood with a gratuitous swish of her gown. Pointing her goblet at the man, the guards dragged him forwards by the armpits and his chained ankles scraped dissonantly across the stone.

"Speak."

"Your magesty...your magesty...I weren't trying to sneak in, I promise on my mother's grave, rest her soul, your magesty."

Regina twirked a lip, "Your dead mother doesn't interest me. Put him in the dungeons."

"B-but. No! No!" he thrashed as the guards began to draw him away. Oh, she did love it when they fought. "I've something to tell you!"

"Stay."

The guards froze and spun the prisoner around again.

"Speak. Don't blubber."

He cleared his throat and nodded furiously, "I just thought, your magesty, that you might like to know that I've heard tell there's a girl in the King's Forest who can turn into a wolf by moonlight, your magesty, and since all know that you've been giving out rewards to those who come with news of magic-borns – I thought that...I thought...your magesty?"

She had stalked up to him, sniffed at his rags and glared. "That's a werewolf, you cretin. Not a magic-born. I change my mind. Don't put him in the dungeons. Just feed him to the dogs."

The guards almost lifted him off his feet. Those yellowing eyes widened comically as he was yanked backwards towards the door.

"She made fire!"

"Stay," she took a deep drink and then pushed the wine cup to Graham, "Explain."

He looked at the guards one either side and then blinked at the floor, "It's why I'm in all a state, your magesty. My friend Robin, who's a good man but a little bit of a crook you know, he said that there'd been a wolf girl spotted in the woods and that she might be a little more...well, _unusual_ than most. So, I hid in the brushes, because I'm a tracker your magesty – so I'm good with beasts."

She waved at him to get to the point. He cleared his throat twice and she rolled her eyes.

"Anyway. One night, just as I was 'bout to give up, I saw her. She got together a circle of rocks and then...and then...there was fire."

"Striking rocks together is hardly a new idea," Regina dismissed, "Even for a man such as yourself."

"No! I mean, I've seen people strike rocks. Hell, I mean, pardon the old language, your magesty. But I'm a tracker, I've struck rocks myself. But this...this was black magic! First there was no fire. And then there was a raging fire, big as if it'd been tended to for hours."

"Black magic?" she echoed.

"Well, I mean, your magesty. We all know them magic-borns are sorcerors. Messing with our crops, making the rain clouds dry up, doing things no proper human should be able to," he growled angrily, "And females the worst. Rare as, I've heard. And witches, all of them. But, beg pardon, your magesty, if magic is learnt in the good ways like yourself – that's all fine and mighty – but if a babe is just born being able to conjure fire and such, well, I thought, wouldn't it be a public service to turn them in?"

Regina listened to this peasant talk and felt generous enough to let his unfounded superstitions slide. If fear meant more of them were turning in hidden magic-borns, then who was she to argue?

"And how old was this girl?"

"Not sure, your magesty, maybe seventeen or eighteen?"

She almost licked her lips. _Young_. _Female._ _Fertile. Untamed_. Wait until Rumpel heard of it. This were-girl was certainly a match for his beloved – what was levitating a few objects (all she'd ever seen Belle do) compared to making flames from the air? Ha.

"And you took something of hers, like I decreed?"

The man nodded and one of the guards withdrew a red necktie. Regina smiled and glanced momentarily at Graham.

"Gods!" the prisoner's knees fell out from under him and he stared, quivering as Graham was replaced with a large, grey and white wolf. The wolf advanced and Regina was shaking with excitement. Mmm...he was so powerful in this form. She could just eat him up. Handsome creature. Look at the shine on that fur.

"You see, peasant, I have a tracker of my own. He tends to take the shape of the creature he hunts, convenient little trick," she watched at he arched backwards away from Graham's snapping teeth.

Graham, two inchs from the man's face, suddenly lost interest and began to sniff at the red cloth, picking up the girl's scent. Regina walked forward and buried her hand in his nape. "Good boy. Give this man his pick of the jewels, guards, call in two Black Hunters. We have a pup to catch."

X

Red awoke.

She remembered, grass underfoot, the scent of another – except neither werewolf nor natural wolf – something different and pungent. She remembered two men, fast. Not as fast as her but with weapons that flew. A spear scraping across her side. A knife hissing through the air. She'd yelped at the burn. Their eyes cold, and their breaths warm behind a thin black cloth. There was wind. And fear.

Sweat. Heat. Fire. She made as much as she dared, with the trees so close and easy to burn. Flames flew off her fur, rolled off her legs and under her paws. But it didn't scare the Hunters and the Strange Wolf. Someone protected them against it.

Someone with magic.

Then she felt a scorching pain in the side of her head, and there was wet running down onto her muzzle and she had to blink blood out of her eye. And she'd slowed. They pierced her side and she'd collapsed. The Strange Wolf, panting with it's lolling red tongue, pressed a paw to her chest and forced her to submit. A woman with a purple crown had her hand on the nape of the it's neck, wearing a matching smile.

And then there was nothing but sleep. She'd mistook the darkness for death.

Red licked at her parched lips and tried to sit. She was jerked back and found her hands pinned above her head and attached to the wall. Sensation crept over her, the cold metal at her wrists, the scratch of bedsheet on her naked flesh. The feel of cool, stagnant air. It was unbareably dark.

She looked with her wolf eyes and shapes began to materialise, detail following soon after. There was another bed beside hers. On top was a woman, equally naked. She had a fresh bruise on her breastbone and bite marks around her neck. Unlike Red, her legs were tied to the bedposts, spread eagled.

The woman was sleeping, her ears had long learnt to distinguish between the breath of a sleeping human and a human standing watch over a campfire and its precious food. She averted her eyes and looked to her other side. Yes, there was a woman there too. That woman was awake.

Red got the distinct impression she'd been watched for hours.

"You have beautiful eyes, dear."

She startled at the sound of that soft voice. Yes, they'd be bright and gold if she was using her wolf-sight.

"Tell me, how old are you?"

Red had to swallow several times to keep from croaking. "Seventeen."

"Gods, you're just a child," the lady looked like the information insulted her, but then smiled. "Bet you put up a good fight, though."

She glanced down at herself and saw the large gash running down her side, the slice across her left hindleg and she remembered the head wound. Then she frowned. Humans weren't supposed to see in the dark.

"I'm like you, child. I'm magic-born."

"Oh."

"Got caught yesterday, that's why I haven't been Collected yet," she smiled wryly. "One of my patients went and sold me out to the Queen."

"Your patients?"

"He had leprosy. I healed him. Ungrateful bastard."

Red looked at the woman, who she now realised was remarkably small and had a fair few marks on her own body, obviously fresh. She could almost taste the blood. "You're a sharman."

The lady laughed quietly, "That's one word, yes."

She was confused.

"Can see illness and pain," she murmured, "Can't see your face, well other than those eyes of course, but in my mind, I can see every ailment upon your young body. Be able to heal you too, ask the injuries to leave you in peace, if I could be unbound and put my hands upon you."

"That's your magic? I thought...I don't know what I thought."

The woman was silent for so long Red thought she'd fallen asleep. Then, "What can you do, love?"

In answer she closed her eyes and let the heat roll over her. When she blinked them open, the dungeon was bright with the light from her flames. They flickered over her like a second skin, they dressed her shame with tongues of warmth, they whispered to her like old friends.

"Beautiful," the sharman gasped and looked her up and down. Red smiled as they engulfed her face. "They don't burn you, even though I can feel their heat from here. Simply beautiful."

"You think?"

The woman nodded, no fear, no disgust. Understanding and acceptance. Red almost cried with joy and then she quickly dimmed them to a simmer. It would be no good waking up the others. She could see another two women, sleeping in beds on the other side of the sharman.

"Needn't worry. They won't wake, not until commanded."

"Commanded?"

"Once Collected, the Queen tells them when to sleep, wake, speak, eat, shit...everything."

"And I'll be...Collected?" the look of sadness on the older woman's face said it all. "What else?"

"Nothing," she said, "You become nothing. Magic's our soul. To take someone's magic is to own their free will. Would tell you more but I don't know what it's like any more than you do. No one Collected has ever come back. Don't even know if it's possible."

"Possible to have your magic...your soul...returned to you?"

"Never heard it happen," she said, staring at the ceiling, "Once treated a Collected magic-born. He'd been transferred. It left him so damaged he couldn't tell heads from tails. His soul was divided you see. Once one master Collects you, the soul binds itself, to switch to another as some people do – irreparable damage."

"And could you save him? With your powers?"

"Let me tell you a story, dear. Was once asked to bring a dying man back from the void by his family. Twas a fever caught from infection and I had done scores of similar healings in my life. Had treated men and women far closer to death than this one soul. But that time, no matter what I did, the sickness wouldn't leave him," her voice was far off, her eyes unfocused, "Was only after he passed that I realised healing could only work if one had the will to live in the first place. If there is no will, than nothing short of the darkest magic can change the course of the tides. Understand?"

Red nodded, "I think so."

"Have treated half a dozen or so Collected magic-borns. Whether it was psychotic mania or a bruised thumb, I have never been able to fix them," she turned her head back to look at Red, tears shinining in her eyes, "Nothing can bring back what is not there to begin with. If the soul is not with the body, the body has no will to get better, has no will to be happy or healthy. Has no will to love or show mercy or believe in a higher power."

"And that will happen to me? To us?"

"Ah, child. Don't sound so angry at me. Tis better that you know."

She tried very hard not to give in to the bile rising in her throat and drew the fire into her chest. The dungeon fell dark but inside she glowed like hot coals. Red cradled her magic and began to cry.

X

Three months later, she was pregnant. It was difficult to tell who the father was exactly. Nights warred with day. Days blurred into nights. Faces floated in and out of focus. Regina was her master and she was happy for it.


	5. Crossing Borders

**Summary: **For Belle, being Collected is not half as horrifying as getting married. For King Midas, he should never have opened his doors to Regina and her 'diplomatic convoy'.

**Warnings: **One scene with mild violence and gore

**Chapter 4: Crossing Borders**

When Rumpelstiltskin finished his concoction of sludge, Belle grabbed a handful of ash from the fireplace and held it up, a small pile hovering in its halo midair. It was early evening and the beige was nearly transparent. She watched, spellbound, as he picked up a small glass vial, no thicker than her smallest finger and held it up to the magic.

_Pour into the vial_

The ash trickled down the glass, the light of her magic with it. When the last bit had gone in, He sealed the bottle with a tiny cork and Belle gasped. A knife had sliced across her stomach, just a small, quick cut. And then there was cold. And after the cold, nothing.

Rumpelstiltskin was watching her, as she removed the hand that had jumped to her abdomen. When there was no pain, she nodded. She couldn't hear the ash anymore. He magicked it away, until all the black particles were gone, leaving only the pearly sheen of her glow. Without the shape of the ash to gather around, she saw it was just a small, cloudy slice of light.

With practiced motions, he walked back around and uncorked the vial, letting the strand flow into the flask. As her magic touched the sludge, it bubbled, hissing furiously until the edges of the glass were fogged over with grey smoke and she couldn't see the happenings inside.

Just out of curiosity, Belle reached for the flask, only a stretch of her mind. It tasted of oranges (that would be Rumpelstiltskin) and...

She was gagging, doubled over the bench and very nearly knocked over something that would be better kept inside its jar.

"What is it?" He was fluttering his hands around her head and she was hit with the realisation that he could be incredibly useless for someone who was supposed to be the 'Dark One'.

Staggering over to fetch a pitcher of water, she tried to wash the taste away – pungent, spicy, and bittersweet, like swallowing the damp soil found on the forest floor. It didn't work. Magic wasn't really in her mouth, after all. It was just an effect of delving into its essence. Her essence. She shuddered.

Looking at oneself in the mirror was one thing. Looking at the very nature of her magic was another thing entirely.

She wondered why Rumpelstiltskin never complained when she described his magic to him. Didn't he feel violated? But then again, if her magic had tasted like sugar and felt like flower petals she wouldn't have complained either.

Belle was worried. Did the strong, not entirely pleasant, nature of her own magic mean...what did it mean?

She shook her head and by the time she was calm enough to look back at the bench, Rumpelstiltskin had given up attempting to comfort her and was cradling the bulbous bottom of the flask in both hands. He was staring at it with rapt attention.

No longer looking like slime, Belle had to admit the sight was pretty spectacular. Silvery, and rather like iron (except she'd never seen a piece of iron polished to that extreme), the new substance filled the flask almost to the neck. She'd once seen a gold worker melt gold until it reached the consistency of honey and then pour it into a tube to set. This looked the same.

She wondered if it was heavy. It seemed heavy.

"What does it do?"

"Nothing yet," he said irritably, turning his back and very literally disappearing. A second later, his bench followed him in a puff of odourless smoke.

Belle took another gulp of water and shook her head. So much for thanks.

X

Rumpelstiltskin stared at the flask, given pride of place on his workbench back in his own tower. It contained barely a sliver of her magic, hardly enough for Collection [Didn't want to Collect Belle, anyway], but was more than adequate in speeding up the process. Enchanted metal of this quality usually took him months to perfect.

[Ah, the power of potent child's magic]

Staring at it, he tried to imagine Belle becoming like other Collections – stilted, obedient, unsmiling. [Soulless] He thought of Regina, her scores of Collections. She hadn't been lying about buying off the Black Hunters. In the space of three and a half years, her contingent had grown from five [Most of which had been damaged and elderly] to two hundred and seventeen. Eight of those were females. One was a female child. Regina had been quick to gloat about that.

Given that there were only around fifteen fertile magic-born females at any time [A few more or less depending on the century], this was a magnificent feat. And to add to that, Regina had been true to her word in the matter of breeding. Her castle now nursed two newborns and three pregnant women.

Rumpelstiltskin did have to admit that the prospect of breeding magic-borns was a curious idea.

But, those babies wouldn't blossom for years to come and there were more pressing problems. For one, he'd spotted an increase in Black Hunter activity around Belle. There were still plenty of the mercenaries unaffiliated with Regina and her agenda. As much as he didn't like [Loathed] to admit it, with Regina bound by a magical deal to leave Belle in peace ['For the time being'], the more Hunters under her command [With pocketfuls of her gold], the better. By extension, they couldn't hurt Belle either.

The freelance ones he'd seen hovering around [Obviously not very near because of the necklace] were starting to irritate [Infuriate] him.

It was time he gave Belle a weapon to defend herself with. He picked up the flask and began to pour the molten silver. [Caste made of enchanted gold] While it was still liquid, he walked over to his spinning wheel and cut off a piece of gold thread. Dropping it into the silver [Muttering old tongue], Rumpelstiltskin stood back with fingers pressed together in a pyramid at his chest. [Breath held]

When Belle's magic accepted his [Why wouldn't it?], the metal pulsed, sending out a ray of light [Magic tended to be dramatic] and then lost its metallic sheen, becoming pearly [Shell-like]. He grinned and left it to set.

With Regina's increase in Collections, he needed to be on top of his work. [Average of two Collection bowls per week] It was starting to be a chore, making so many. The glass needed to be infused with the Dark One's magic, imbibed with enchantments in the old language, mixed with the blood of the particular magic-born and touched by the master. The end product was so invincible that not even Rumpelstiltskin could touch it without causing extreme pain to himself. [He should put in a loop hole one day]

The only exception was if the master chose to transfer the magic-born [Of their own free will], to another person who accepted [Of their own free will]. Of course, this change of allegiance tended to damage the magic-born beyond description.

[Graham]

Once a shape shifter and nothing more, he was now a violent Huntsman with a bloodlust that was never quite quenched. Regina doted on him all the more for it. [Kindred spirits] For himself, he preferred his magic-borns with easier tempers.

X

King Midas sat bolt straight in his throne, looking at the figure sprawled on his tiles in horror. Someone was sobbing to his right.

"We've been such good friends for so long," Regina smiled, her fingers buried in the fur of the wolf-man who was tearing chunks of flesh off the bones of the corpse at her feet. The chamber echoed with the sinful slosh of wet tongue upon warm meat. Midas' generously proportioned stomach rolled. He was sure his complexion had turned green.

"You know what I want," the Queen continued casually into the chilly silence, as if she was sharing insight on the latest trade routes – not threatening his entire kingdom with the sight of their bravest, strongest, most beloved knight being fed upon.

Midas couldn't look at her, could only stare at the feast before him. It was a gruesome goodbye. So ghastly, so unimaginably horrific – it transcended all other terrors he'd ever seen. War. Starvation. Disease. Murder. He was a king. Harsh realities were familiar friends. But here was something that went above and beyond.

There was no feeding frenzy. The wolf smacked his lips, cleaned the blood off his muzzle every few bites, and was almost _dainty_. The beast didn't devour – he savoured.

Regina lifted up a hand, elegant at the wrist and four young men strode forward.

"Phrygia is mine. Are we agreed?"

At this, Midas finally looked up. He had never felt such an overwhelming urge to kill a woman before. Phrygia was his kingdom. One of the four. They had existed in relative peace for millennia. Their people crossed the borders without fear. They did not war with each other. Instead, they banded together to fight off ogres in the south, forest sprites and shadow creatures in the north, witches and vampires in the east and the mer people in the west. For millennia the kingdoms lived in harmony. Regina had hers. Phrygia was his.

Midas stood, gold and leather boots clanging loudly across the stone floors and marble columns.

"You think you can walk into the Golden Palace and force my hand?" There was no need for a raised voice, now. "You think I will lie down and die, while you over run my lands with your pathetic excuse of an army? You think you can _kill my son_ at my doorstep and unleash your demon dog on his body – deny him a proper burial – and not be brought to justice?"

Regina raised her eyebrows. "He was your son? Oh," she lifted her fingers to cover her mouth, "Apologies."

"Marianne! Lila!" Midas called forth his two most powerful magic-borns. Female. Young adults, both of them. They marched forward with blank, hard faces. "Show these vermin out of my doors."

The two women walked off the raised dais and towards Regina, the wolf with raised hackles and the four unarmed men. Midas took a deep breath, blinked away tears and didn't look at his son's body. He reclaimed his throne with a deep inhale and was confident that Mary and Li would make short work of Regina and her 'diplomatic convoy.'

The Evil Queen didn't as much as blink at the advancing magic-borns. Amusement twitching her lips, she whispered something under her breath.

Then the world collapsed.

The palace exploded in a blinding flash of light. He felt the throne crumble beneath him, the earth shifting. Arm thrown over head in a futile defence, he waited while the torpedos of chilling, howling wind rushed around the chamber.

He stayed, curled into a ball, for Gods knew how long.

As suddenly as the magic came, it disappeared.

He blinked his eyes open and looked around, words sticking in his throat. The gold leaf that painted the vast hall had disappeared, leaving a dull grey stone behind. The lamps were blown out. The stone tiles cracked and uneven as if a mighty earthquake had swept through. Midas forced himself onto his hands and knees and looked around.

His courtiers lay in heaps. Dead where they stood. In the centre of the room, Marianne and Lila were suspended from two beams of green light – magicked by two of Regina's men. They were both alive and awake but the silent screams, the thrashing in midair...he could imagine the pain.

His heart bled.

Regina stood in the middle of it, not a hair out of place, her hip cocked and looking almost bored. She examined her nails.

"My magic-borns have such fascinating powers, don't you agree?"

Midas tried to still the tremor running up and down his body. His teeth were chattering so hard from fear and from the sudden cold that his ears rang.

The Queen deigned to look up from her cuticles and flashed him a deadly smile. "I repeat, Phrygia is mine. Are we agreed?"

X

"Rumpelstiltskin."

Belle marked her place in her book and put it aside, clasping her hands in her lap. Her teacher continued to work at his wheel, moved to its usual place under her window. He gave no indication he heard her. She waited a few moments more and then shrugged; jumping off the bed and moving towards the makeshift workbench he always set up.

One horrible incident with griffin feathers and slug goo a year and a half ago taught her to be wary of what she touched.

_Hello Belle_

_Ev'ning m'lady_

_How do ye do?_

_Hands off me for now_

_Bit bored are we, child..._

_Wouldn't mind moving me away from Sir Stink-a-lot over there, would you?_

Belle ran her mind over the different concoctions and smiled as she picked up a bulbous flask, moving him away from a silver box that was emitting a noxious blue gas.

She loved Rumpelstiltskin's workbench. They were all such lively creatures. Each with their own voice. Almost four years of learning her way around their sounds and she was finally starting to distinguish the ingredients. If it had rosemary (the vial over there, and that purple one too) then it tended to have a deeper tone. If there was water from Lake Nostros (that mixture that was bubbling to the beat of a woodlands folk song) it always tasted like sliced ham. Nightshade made any solution grumpy for at least two turns of the moon. Freshly spun silk from mulberry silkworms made potions very chatty for a few days. Bark from the Summer Isles tended to compliment her more than anything else.

Her favourite was when Rumpelstiltskin added a ray of light from a full moon – the solution would sing like a chorus of angels.

Very recently, she'd come to hear snippets of her own magic. It was a bizarre feeling. Like seeing your twin ride by you on the Main Road. Just a ghost of recognition. And then it was gone.

Most of the time she had no idea what Rumpelstiltskin was making. She'd talk to his workbench and the weird and wonderful things on it for hours at a time and still be none the wiser. It wasn't unusual that the potions themselves didn't know what they did.

What was unusual, though, was when something didn't speak to her. At all.

"What's that?"

Belle looked at a large glass bowl with glass lid. It looked perfectly mundane and she would have missed it completely, outshone by all the other objects fighting for her attention, if the firelight hadn't glanced off it oddly for a second.

"I can't hear it."

She reached out a hand and was just about to touch it when Rumpelstiltskin appeared suddenly by her side and gripped her wrist. Tight but not uncomfortable. Looking up, she blinked her apology and surprise.

"It's magical? It doesn't feel magical..."

"My dear, that is the point of the matter," he loosened his grasp and said pointedly, "Don't touch something that's trying very hard to go unnoticed. You'll find that things which dislike being found make rather unpleasant friends."

When he released her, she pulled back her arm but stuck her nose forward and peered at the very normal piece of glassware curiously. "What is it?"

"Dark magic."

She looked up at him and then at the tableful of generally vile and unappealing substances and then back at him again.

He waved away her sardonic expression (one she'd mastered rather well from him in fact) and spun on his heels, "That's all you need to know."

Belle frowned but didn't push the matter, dancing after him and back towards the wheel. She deposited herself in the seat and began to work at spinning. Rumpelstiltskin hovered over her, arms coming around and adjusting her technique every so often. Though not half as effortlessly as he, Belle had collected a good few tendrils of gold herself by the time the sun had set. The silence was companionable. Well, outer silence, anyway.

She'd had a very enjoyable conversation with the wheel.

She loved Rumpelstiltskin's wheel very much. It was full of tales about the goings ons in the Dark Castle. Its usual home was in his drawing room and that was where scores of deals had been made. The wheel had a talent for story telling and Belle had to stifle a giggle every so often.

Rumpelstiltskin might never let her spin again if he found out she was partaking in gossip at his expense.

His head had come to rest at her shoulder, sitting with his front pressed to her back. The night was chilly but she didn't need to shuffle closer to the fire or shut the window with his heat warming her to her bones. She bent to inspect her work and his fingers, yellow claws and rough palms and all, closed around hers to better hold the strands.

"Almost acceptable."

Even for a teacher, Rumpelstiltskin was miserly with his compliments. Belle huffed and thought that even though some of the straw still hadn't turned gold and the gold itself wasn't nearly as shiny as his – it was still a great improvement on what she'd been able to create just a half year ago.

_Oh, go on then, fix yourself up_

She sighed and told the gold to perfect itself. In a moment, the strands were up to Rumpelstiltskin's standard. He gave a grunt of disapproval at her ear but she ignored him. The idea was to work with his kind of magic first. If she had to use her own magic to make the end product 'acceptable' then so be it. At least these days, using her magic wasn't giving her such intense headaches.

"There," she dropped the strands back into the basket with the rest of the gold, "Good enough to sit there forever and never be used."

He hummed at her skin, arms almost wrapped around her waist. Belle was very tempted to snuggle into him but knew how big of a scolding she'd get for teasing him so. Rumpelstiltskin didn't do hugs. She suspected it was detrimental to his reputation.

"Do you need more of me for your Collection or can I go down to dinner?"

Rumpelstiltskin gave her his angry-teacher face and she rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. You don't have a Collection of me. You only Collect me. Because you can Collect to just Collect and not have enough to make a Collection. But you can never have a Collection without Collecting. So Collecting and Collectioning aren't the same things. I know."

He scowled. "It's no joking matter, princess."

"Am I laughing?"

She forced back the smile and tried to be serious, drawing her brows together.

It was Rumpelstiltskin's turn to roll his eyes. He tapped her lightly on the nose and untangled himself from around her on the small seat. "No, I've no need of your magic tonight. Go eat. Make sure you practice before you sleep."

Belle jumped up and smoothed her skirts. She was famished. "If you Collect me enough times, will you one day have enough magic for a Collection?"

"It is rather worrying that you have no fear of being Collected," he said conversationally, magicking away the workbench with a flourish.

She hesitated at her door and then turned back around to his expectant face. "I didn't use to like the idea. Not with all the stories you've told me...but it doesn't sound so bad, now that you've Collected me a few times. I mean, I can still use my magic and you'd be able to control it and help me use it too and you wouldn't have to ask me every time you need a bit for your work."

Rumpelstiltskin surveyed her, arms crossed. Then very slowly, he stalked towards her until he was close enough to tip her chin upwards, "Remind me what happened to Melody Valborg."

Belle swayed a little but kept her voice steady and didn't blink away, "She died."

"How."

"She...killed herself."

"Why?"

Belle was silent for a long while and finally Rumpelstiltskin spoke. "Never ask to be my Collection, ever again."

"I – "

He snarled. Actually, snarled, and Belle flinched. She bit her lip and waited, realising he'd backed her against her door.

"Never again."

X

Belle was sipping glumly at her soup. She still didn't understand exactly what had happened or where she'd gone wrong. So distracted by her own thoughts, she almost didn't hear her father announce that they would be going on a journey in a few days time. It was to a neighbouring fiefdom, ruled by the LeGume's.

"They have a son Belle, only a few years older than yourself," her father said cheerfully. Belle found a smile from somewhere and nodded.

Her father's chief advisor, Sir Roddard, spoke up with his customarily unfriendly, distracted voice. "Sir Gaston LeGume is the youngest knight of our kingdom. Queen Regina honoured him herself. He serves in her castle but will be coming down to visit his parents next week. You will meet him then."

Her father winked. "His chivalry is known, Belle."

She nodded some more and turned back to her soup, disinterested. Then Sir Roddard spoke again.

"Siiria will fit you for a new dress. Nothing you have now is suitable for meeting your husband for the first time."

Belle choked on her chicken. Her father looked almost guilty.

"_Papa_?"

"No more of that," Sir Roddard chided, "You will address Lord Maurice as 'father' or 'my father' or 'sir' and you will address Sir Gaston as 'my liege', 'my lord' or 'my husband'."

Just composing herself enough to not ask Sir Roddard's cup of wine to upend over his balding head, Belle tried for her most ladylike voice and looked pleadingly at her father.

"I'm not married."

"If the LeGume's find you acceptable, Rochelle and Provins will have the ceremony sometime next year."

"Provins?"

"Sir Gaston's parent's fiefdom, darling."

Belle ignored her father, "But why hasn't anyone told me of this? Or asked for my opinion?"

Sir Roddard looked at her blankly. Belle almost poked his eye out with his own fork. The silverware actually twitched in his hand. She grit her teeth. "Have I no say?"

"Now darling..."

"Now, _father_," she retorted, her table manners slipping completely to be replaced with sheer panic. "What if he's horrible? What if I hate him?"

"The fiefdoms will benefit from uniting out borders against the ogrelands – "

"But what if _I_ don't like him?"

Again, the chief advisor only stared. Her father gave her a pitying pat on the shoulder and she threw his hand off fretfully, stabbing the breast of her chicken with a barely suppressed growl. Her fingers itched at her throat and on an impulse, she cried _Rumpelstiltskin!_

When next she looked up, he was hovering in the shadows of the dining hall, wary and unseen. Then, sucking on her bottom lip, she turned to her father, knowing Rumpelstiltskin would still be able to hear, and whispered, "But Papa, I don't _want_ to be married."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Rumpelstiltskin twitch at her words. When she turned in his direction, he had gone.

* * *

**Oops, sorry for the longer than promised wait. I got a little distracted by the Australian Open ^^" As always, your reviews are love and they push me to write!**


	6. Untamed

**Summary: **The father swears profusely, the son gifts her with a violent horse but it's the mother who breaks Belle on her first day in Provins – her future, and eternal, home.

**Warnings: **None

**Credit: **The lullaby Belle hums is RainTears by Scala & Kolacny Brothers

**Chapter 5: Untamed**

Provins was not so different from home. The same fields, the same kinds of buildings, the same mountains in the background, looking almost blue in the light of dawn. They were neighbours, she should have expected it. Even the grass smelled the same.

Her stomach gave a weak flop and she dug her nails into her palm. It would be fine. It _was _fine.

For ladies, it was difficult to steer a horse in side-saddle and anything faster than a trot was uncomfortable with the way her right leg was swung over her left. Even though Toadsy loved walking, this particular kind of walking was boring; behind a long trail of royal paraphenalia and constricted by so much skirt she felt less like a human and more like a china doll. The summer morning was just getting warm. The mild heat succeeded in making her drowsy and only the butterfly trembling of her own nerves kept her alert enough to stay mounted. Now if she'd been able to push Toadsy into a canter and have a little fun...

Her father had almost let her ride proper saddled when she'd given him her biggest eyes but Sir Roddard shot her his steeliest glare and knocked some sense into his Lord ("Do you want the LeGume's first impression to be of your daughter with her legs _spread_?")

And so she was forced to wander near the end of the contigent with the handmaids. On another day, she might have been able to feel more than resignation. Today, she took the opportunity to catnap as they trundled up to the stone walls of the main castle.

It was a robust structure.

Which was the same as saying it was squarish and ugly.

She sighed, looked around, taking in the expanse of grey stone looming over her. She slyly closed her eyes once more.

"My lady!"

Belle jerked straight. She'd listed to her left. Thank goodness for horses being pack animals. Toadsy had followed the others and brought her to the castle gates. She blinked weariness away and realised she was expected to ride up beside (well, a few strides to the side and behind) her father. Knights in red and gold livery were receiving them.

Panic immobilised her.

_Which one is Gaston?_

In a silent grab for information, she sent her feelers up to the half dozen men waiting to greet her. It was unnerving, not even knowing what her future husband looked like.

Not halfway up the slight incline, spine tingling with anticipation and knuckles white, the reply came. She couldn't describe the feeling. It was just a...feeling. Like a shiver or the spider web remnants of a dream drifting away as one woke. Flashes of vivid imagery, words, sounds and emotions.

Imagine a door creaking not because it needed a good oiling, but because there was an intruder waiting in the shadows. The door had spoken to you. And you knew to heed the warning.

She took the warning now.

Rumpelstiltskin had once shown her two beetles. One was a castiarina, red striped alone its back, with orange splotches separated by purple bands that shone green or blue depending on the way you turned your head. The other was a common jewel beetle that mimicked the colour pattern of the poisonous castiarina. The latter was completely harmless but birds stayed away all the same, just in case.

Belle's magic couldn't tell if these men were castiarinas or if they were jewel beetles. Either way, she wanted to flee.

Here be danger.

Her magic rushed through her ears and she swayed in her saddle, sweating through her layers of petticoats.

_Danger is near_

"Lord Serge, Sir Gaston," her father was using his diplomatic voice. "We are honoured you've received us this early hour."

The men of Provins stared down at the Rochellan knights. Then Lord Serge, a stout man, kicked his horse forward. His stoic face broke into a large grin and he held out a hand. Her father rode to meet it.

"Early hour Maurice? It's about time you got here!" he boomed, a gargantuan chortle escaping a bearded mouth. "It's been too long, old friend, too long! Weren't we fighting under Bertie Butthead when I last saw you? Biggest bastard I ever met. We were still knights. Now look at us, eh?"

They were speaking in the old tongue. Belle carefully picked her jaw off the floor and tried to fall into a serene smile, that ladylike manner she'd never exactly mastered. It was all just too difficult as she listened with one ear while Lord Serge and her father (and she'd been unaware they even knew each other, thank you very much Papa) shared stories. Lord Serge bellowed with a multitude of expletives and her father tried not to flush too much.

Maurice wasn't one who used crude words very often and he was now glancing surreptitiously at Belle as if he hoped she'd put her earmuffs on. She grinned sardonically at him in answer. Yes, her grasp of the old language was just as good as he thought it was.

Lord Serge took a break in his monologue to breathe and her father grasped the opportunity, "Serge, Knights of Provins, may I present my daughter, Lady Belle."

She inclined her head and tried not to make eye contact with any of them.

A man (no, a boy) kicked his black stallion forward with silver buckled boots. He had dark hair, cropped close to his scalp, on a long face with a very grave expression. The effect of sombre eyes under drawn brows was marred somewhat by the remnants of baby cheeks and a pouty mouth. A heavily bejewelled collar hid what she realised must be an unusually long neck.

"Follow me, my lady," he turned his horse with easy grace, "If you please."

Belle looked at her father, who nodded and she found herself walking up the front gates, passing the Provins knights still standing solemnly in their places. Her magic continued to scream.

X

"The stables," Gaston dismounted nimbly. Before he could come to aid her, Belle jumped off herself. She didn't want his hands on her. Not yet.

If Sir Roddard got his way, they'd have a lifetime of that.

She watched him watching her. Belle wanted to see if he would be a different sort of person away from the formalities of the gates, and hidden from the eyes of his father. She couldn't fathom what _he_ was looking for. When Gaston broke the silence with a cough, he inspected the ground and kicked his boot toe, scuffing it a little. For one unguarded moment, Belle almost let herself grin.

"Mother says we're to be married," he glanced up and she had enough experience with men who thought themselves spectacularly brave and powerful, to know when one was feeling vulnerable.

"Sir Roddard, that's Papa's chief advisor," she twisted her mouth as a picture of the man sprung up in her mind, "I mean, my father's chief advisor. Well, anyway, he said that too. I mean, that we'll be married...too."

Gaston had passed his steed to a stableboy and begun to stride inside the wooden doors. Belle trailed off at his blatant inattention to her words with a stab of indignance and hurried after him, tugging Toadsy's reins. No stableboys came to offer their assistance. She frowned.

"Roddard," Gaston repeated once she'd caught up to him, "I find that name familiar."

Belle shrugged, "that's not surprising. He likes to stick his nose into things. He probably organised this whole marriage, been talking to your parents. He's probably visited Provins before."

The boy halted and turned to her with crossed arms, "No. Your father and my mother agreed to the union, not this Roddard. I think perhaps I heard his name in the Queen's castle. Do you not wish to marry me?"

She forced a laugh and the palm holding the leather reins clenched, "You can't honestly say that you _want _to be married?"

Belle may as well have slapped him. Gaston flushed from the tips of his ears upwards. He angrily stretched forward and yanked Toadsy from her grip. Her mount was passed to a stableboy who seemed to appear from the air. "Well, your opinion on the matter is hardly relevant. It will be done, no question about it. And I can't have any wife of mine riding on that ugly thing."

Gaston observed her for a moment and then stepped aside so she could see the stall that they were beside. She swallowed her matching anger, ignored her guilt at hurting his feelings and tried to be pleasant.

"What is this?"

The young knight unlatched the door and pulled it open just wide enough for her to see inside.

"He's a colt, we think. Mother found him in the West Woods. A wild one. Kicked our best horseman's collar in and caved in one of the knight's chests," Gaston smirked, "He's my gift to you. For our wedding. Mother said it was expected."

Belle gazed at the creature lying spread on the freshly mucked straw. Two red lacerations ran down the horse's side and one hindleg had a bandage wound around it.

"He's yours," Gaston said at her ear. Belle flinched away from the hot breath and tried not to crinkle her nose in disgust. His eyes were bright and a cruel smile adorned his face. "Mother said it would be more gentlemanly to break him in ourselves but I think a wife of mine should be able to hold her own."

She set her jaw, "You said he killed one of your knights?"

A red tongue darted out to wet his lips. They no longer looked pouty or childlike. Belle turned away with furrowed brow and focused on the horse that seemed to be trying very hard to squeeze itself into the corner of the small space. It's ears pricked, snapping forwards. Dark, round eyes gazed at her. Belle gathered her skirts in two fists, pulling them up above her knees.

"Are you going in?" Gaston grabbed her shoulder in sudden alarm. Belle threw a dirty look over said shoulder and he recoiled as if struck. She shrugged off his hand and took a few tentative shuffles inside.

"You want me to 'hold my own', yes?"

"Yes...but..."

She knelt down until she was at eye level with the creature, only a few paces from a hoof, "Don't worry, I'll take care not to die. I'm certain your mother wouldn't be too happy about that."

With most of her attention on the horse, she still managed to sense the waves of horror and despair radiating off the man behind her. He was shifting his weight awkwardly. The sound of his boots on the straw jarred her senses and she pursed her lips.

"Would you stand still?"

He froze. She smiled to herself. The horse grunted, deep in its belly. Belle looked closer at the injuries. What she'd mistaken for as deep whip marks, were actually burns. Had someone in this Gods-forsaken fiefdom struck and dragged a hot poker through the poor horse's flesh? What on earth would that have achieved?

Belle let the cloth pool around her ankles, stretching out a hand, slow and unshaking. The horse whinnyed nervously. She hummed a lullaby behind closed lips, letting the soft sound fill the wooden stall. Those large eyes blinked at her, even darker lashes falling across a pale cheek.

"You're so beautiful," she looked down the expanse of white fur, dappled grey on his rump and down his legs, like a forest covered in snow. Like moonlight dancing off a black lake. "Yes you are...you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

He tossed his head. She waited, taking steady breaths – one...two...three – somewhere in the background Gaston was muttering something feebly. She didn't take her eyes off the horse. Humming a sweet song that she'd last heard Old Auntie Melody sing to her.

"My honey-drizzled dreams, sweeten lonely in-betweens," Belle whispered softly, her outstretched hand wavering slightly, "Each passing day and year..."

_Fear_

Just a baby, only a year old, stolen from his herd in the wild. Forced into a tiny wooden box. Forced to wear leather harnesses. He hated it. Tied up. Locked in. Pulled by the tongue to go left or right. Belle felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes.

"...Haunts me because you're not here."

_I know_

The horse neighed, softly. A whimper.

She inched forward and waited. Then waited. Then inched forward some more. And waited.

"...Wounds won't close..."

_I want to run_

_Soon, I promise_

"Because I know..." the song was more breath than sound now, "Somehow I let you go..."

The horse calmed its rapid breathing, chest moving up and down in a more regular pattern. Belle leaned forward. Her hands were just a hair from his nose.

_Be at peace_

Just a feather touch. Just one pat. Almost there. Just a little more.

_Be at peace_

Just. One. Hair. More. Just –

"Get out from under there, m'lady! He's dangerous!"

Belle was grabbed by the arms and heaved upwards just as the horse rose to furious stand. Teeth snapped, squealing in anger, legs kicking out in a frenzy.

"Stop!" she tried to twist from the bruising fingers digging into her. "You're frightening him!"

The horse lept forward and charged. She reached for him. He was snorting and kicking and all. The man lifted her by the waist and bodily dragged her from the oncoming maelstrom.

_I'm sorry!_

"M'lady!"

Belle was thrown out of the stall. She stumbled and twisted her ankle. The door latched came down with a thump and bolted. Gaston was wide-eyed in the corner, standing out of the way and looking like he'd seen a ghost. A groom with a lined face, calloused hands and a head of curly brown and grey hair stubbed a finger in her face.

"Ye could have been killed!"

"I was fine!" she retorted, limping away from him and leaning an elbow against a pillar, catching her breath. She could hear the horse working himself into a state, ramming against the door. Belle squeezed her eyes shut against hot tears that threatened to spill. She'd _felt_ his pain. His fear. His hopelessness.

"That beast in there caved in Sir Lucas' breastplate, little lady!"

"I'm not a little lady," she hissed viciously. The groom snorted and spat a pile of phlegm at her feet.

"Ye be not a clever one either, me sees."

Belle looked at the spittle on the ground and then up at Gaston, who seemed to be attempting to fade into the wood. She glared.

"If you wanted me to train the horse, you shouldn't have gone calling in the cavalry as soon as I tried!"

Gaston stammered for a bit, face heating up under the combined looks of both the groom and Belle. Seemingly with great effort, he forced his head high and stuck out his nose.

"The lady wasn't breaking in the beast properly," he had put on an unbearably snobbish voice. "I had no choice but to call in someone more experienced in the matter."

She laughed hysterically and pointed at the groom, "The horse was perfectly docile for the entire time I was in there until your _experienced_ man stomped inside and scared the poor thing out of its wits!"

"Don't you insult my staff," Gaston strut forward, an angry cock. The twisted irritation of a child in a tantrum. Belle winced at the ache in her ankle as she tried to stand up straight and face him. He was barely that much taller than her now he was off his towering stallion.

"They're not your staff yet," she countered, "Not while your father is living. You're just a knight while I'm a princess."

He opened and closed his mouth in humiliated silence and then contorted his face, pressing it up to hers until he was close enough that she could lick him. "You are not a real princess."

Gaston looked her up and down. Her hem was dirty and there was horse dung smeared on it. He sneered. "You are not even fit to be a lady."

Belle cocked an eyebrow, "Surely the great Sir Gaston can't marry anyone but a lady. Perhaps you should call off the wedding. I'll have no objections, I assure you."

The knight clenched his fists and seemed about to agree to her suggestion just to be contrary. His cheeks had a very liberal coating of pink and his mouth was slightly agape. She grinned disarmingly at him and then began to giggle.

"What?" he demanded, pulling back and sticking out his chest, "What's so funny?"

She leaned weakly against the stall of the rampaging horse.

_Be still_

The horse stopped. A shuffling could be heard but the bone racking barrage halted with the suddenness of lightning and thunder coming to an abrupt stop mid-flash and mid-rumble. Belle blinked the giggles away and put her forehead to the stall door, eyes closed. It seemed that living creatures could speak to her magic as well. Now that _was_ a development.

Far more surprising than finding out that her betrothed was a spineless piece of goop wrapped in a pompous headdress.

"We are really to be married, aren't we?" she said, staring at the grain of the wood.

"Our borders should be united against the ogres. There have been rumours that they're marshalling. But given that they're ogres, they won't be ready for war for another three or four years yet..." he trailed off at the sidelong glance she cast him. He swallowed. "Yes. We are, so it seems."

She inhaled deeply through her nose and returned to a stand, attempting to smooth out her gold dress. Belle lifted her eyes and challenged him, "How old are you?"

Gaston hollowed his cheeks, "The youngest to ever be knighted by Her Magesty the Queen."

She raised an eyebrow.

He deflated slightly and scowled, "Sixteen."

Crossing her arms, she said slowly, "And you don't mind marrying me? There's no one else you'd prefer?"

"My lady is the only lady for me," the words were pushed out from between his teeth.

"Yes. I've heard of your famous chivalry."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment," she said a little more scathingly than she'd intended. Belle sighed and uncrossed her arms, "Am I really to train that horse?"

Gaston hesitated.

"I thought not," Belle pursed her lips and took the three steps that separated them, ignoring the pain in her foot. She was at his chin, the crown of her head reaching his nose and lifted her face to look into his eyes. "As my husband, you must understand one thing. Don't try and test me."

He looked away. Giving a stern cough, she forced his attention back on her and put on her best sickly sweet voice, complete with wide, innocent eyes, "If you expect me to beg my dashing knight to save me from the ferocious wilderbeast and break the creature for me, and show me how terribly dashing and knightly his is," she narrowed her eyes and put as much edge as she dared into her threat, "You will be sorely disappointed."

Gaston tilted his head to the side and took a careful step back, as if expecting her to follow him. When she did nothing of the kind, he spoke across the space between with a thoughtful frown, "Lady Belle, you are not like any princess I have ever known."

The lady in question gave a mocking curtesy and grimaced, "That's because I'm not really a princess at all."

X

Belle was nursing her ankle, strapped with fresh bandages by the castle's apothecary, when she briefly touched her fingers to her necklace and called for Rumpelstiltskin.

He didn't come.

After almost a turn of the hour, Belle finally gave up waiting and felt she would be expected to descend from the guest chambers and at least pretend to be happy for her upcoming nuptials. As she struggled to a stand, the crackling energy during her confrontation with Gaston having left her in a great hurry, the door opened inwards.

"Belle, my sweet."

Her head whipped up and she fell into a messy curtesy. The woman asked her to rest and Belle slumped back into the chair with an exhale. She was grateful for a moment, until she realised the height advantage was now very unfair.

"Poor darling. Rick cannot have hurt you too bad, no?"

Belle shook her head and examined her hands.

"Good. Forgive him," the woman walked towards a floor length mirror and adjusted her green gown in its reflection, "He is my childhood groom. I cannot punish him just because little girl did not find her feet fast enough," she looked at Belle through the mirror, "You understand?"

She found a thin smile from somewhere.

"You will come to dinner."

"Yes, my lady."

"Mother."

Belle looked up in confusion and the woman whirled around, heavily embroidered trail swishing across the floor. Her clipped voice was slightly accented like all those from the Summer Isles. Her auburn hair was tied up in a collection of complex rings. The fine lines around her eyes and lips were crinkled, not in laughter, but in critique.

"You are to call me 'Mother', my sweet," running long red nails down the curve of Belle's cheek and cupped her chin. There it gripped, cutting into her flesh. Lady LeGume smiled with a generous display of teeth. "We will be fast friends, I am sure."

She gasped at the pressure and tried to stop her eyes watering. "Yes...Mother."

"Are you happy to being a mother, yourself?"

Eyes widening before she could control the horror she knew must be apparent in her face, Belle stuttered, searching for some suitable phrase that was both diplomatic and clear. The woman continued to smile emptily, waiting for the correct answer to fall from her 'daughter's' lips.

Instead, Belle heard herself saying a blatant lie. Lady LeGume released her with a frown.

"You have not bled? That is not what Maurice told," she continued to mutter to herself, turning away, "It was one of the terms of agreement. This is not acceptable. I will have Serge speak to him about this."

A dull, but blossoming, dismay distracted Belle enough to make her palms sweaty. _Why? Oh why, did I say that...of all the things to say..._

The woman took her leave with one piercing stare. Before the door had even shut behind her, Belle had both hands gripping the necklace.

_Rumpelstiltskin?_

_Oh Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin! What have I done?_

It was later that Belle would discover that despite feeling her pleas of help as sharp as daylight, there was nothing her teacher could do to penetrate the layers of magic placed upon the Provins castle. The Dark One could not enter. And Belle, that night, and every night once she was married, would be alone.


End file.
